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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Emma

JUNE 8TH

I pull into the space outside the penthouse with Kira’s last words still circling through my head. If this ever stops feeling safe, you walk away.

I promised her I would, and after four days together she’d made certain I understood that loving someone never meant accepting less than I deserved.

When she went home yesterday, she hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe before admitting I looked happier than I had in years, and thinking about the reluctant smile she’d worn while confessing she liked Bane after all still makes me smile as I grab the lemon tart from the passenger seat and head for the front door.

I barely pull my key from my bag before barking explodes inside.

“Oh dear,” Mara calls.

“It’s too late,” Bane answers.

The door swings open, and Sprout barrels into me, planting both paws on my shoulders. His tail pounds against the wall.

“You call this a welcome?” I laugh, trying to fend off another enthusiastic lick.

“He forgets every bit of training when you come over,” Mara says from the kitchen.

Sprout finally drops back onto all fours, snatches up a tennis ball, and drops it against my shoe before staring at me with complete confidence.

“I’ll throw it later.”

He lets out a dramatic huff that clearly tells me my answer is unacceptable.

Running footsteps echo down the hallway. “Emma!”

Babs crashes into my waist and Biddy slips in beside her, wrapping both arms around me.

“We helped make dessert,” Biddy says.

“Daddy made dessert,” Babs corrects as she tips her head back to look at me. “We tested it.”

“Twice,” Mara says as she walks in carrying a serving bowl.

“Hi, Emma,” Bane says as he steps out of the kitchen carrying the roast chicken. “Welcome to chaos.”

I look up, and my feet almost stop moving.

The tailored suits are gone. He’s wearing dark jeans, a charcoal T-shirt with the sleeves pushed to his forearms, and a bright red apron stretched across his chest that says “Kiss the Cook.”

He catches me staring. “Theo’s Secret Santa gift one year.”

“I should’ve guessed.”

“I almost threw it away.”

“That would’ve been a terrible decision.”

“Shall we take a seat?” he says, more to the girls than me. “So we can eat.”

The girls steer me toward the dining table before I can leave the lemon tart on the counter.

“We saved your seat,” Babs says, tugging me into the chair beside Bane.